[One Month Later]
It was a cold morning—the sky a dull, indifferent grey—but one morbidly excited teen was practically glowing.
Today was the day. Fan Cheng was getting into U.A. No ifs, buts, or maybes. He was going to make it—and not just into the school. No, he was aiming straight for Class A.
"Hehe... it's gonna be a wash. I'm takin' the number one spot—hahaha!"
Cheng's excitement finally overflowed into loud, borderline manic laughter. It echoed through the thin walls of the apartment building, bouncing off water-stained ceilings and cracked tiles.
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Some of us are trying to sleep!"
"You don't own the whole damn building, you gremlin!"
A chorus of angry, groggy complaints rang out from his fellow not-so-well-off neighbors. But Cheng didn't care. Not today. It was his big day, and nothing was going to bring him down.
Grinning wide, he turned to the mirror.
The scrawny, noodle-armed kid from a month ago? Gone.
Well—mostly gone.
He wasn't a walking, talking pool noodle anymore. Now he was a slightly defined, borderline-athletic pool noodle. Progress. All thanks to Simon.
His black hair had grown out too, now medium-length and slightly shaggy. It hung in what was almost—possibly intentionally—a wolf cut. He'd grown the mullet out. His black eyes shimmered with a mix of hope and reckless determination. This past month had been nothing but grind. Not just to survive—but to thrive in this world.
He slipped on a black turtleneck and an overcoat—cheap stuff, both in price and quality, but still the best-looking clothes he had.
"…Wait. Should I wear something disposable? What if it gets wrecked?"
"…Wait—shit! I need to wear my school uniform anyway!"
He stood there, contemplating his limited fashion options like it was a matter of life and death. Eventually, he went with the standard black Japanese-style uniform. But instead of the usual cardigan over his white button-up, he layered it with the black turtleneck. A small touch of rebellion.
Then came the accessories. A gold chain (absolutely fake) and a black gem stud earring in a gold-edged setting (also fake, naturally—he couldn't afford anything real). Still, they looked good. Made him feel sharp.
He packed a black tracksuit into his bag—just in case—and headed toward the door.
Before stepping out, he paused.
He slid a ring onto his finger.
A golden band. Simple, but old. Engraved with a family crest—an heirloom from his parents. Apparently, somewhere in the distant past, his bloodline traced back to some great general, head of a noble family.
Funny how stuff like that sticks. Even now, in a world of heroes and quirks, where status came from powers, not pedigrees, he still held onto it.
A little weight. A little history.
A reminder: he came from something.
And now, he was about to become something more.
*******
"Shit, why is the bus taking so long?"
Cheng paced in anxious circles, heart thumping harder with each passing minute. He couldn't afford to miss the entrance seminar—the entrance seminar. The one Present Mic hosted.
Now, to be fair, he wasn't exactly hyped to hear Present Mic's booming, ear-splitting voice in person. The anime hadn't done the guy any favors, and Cheng had a strong suspicion reality wouldn't either. Still, rules were rules. Show up late, and you might as well kiss your shot goodbye.
He glanced down the road again. Nothing.
"There's no traffic. No accidents. So where the hell is the bus?" he muttered, letting out a frustrated groan. This was not how his journey to becoming a pro hero was supposed to start.
And in all his frantic worrying, he completely missed the sleek black Mercedes S-Class that had rolled up beside him.
The tinted window hummed as it slid down slowly, revealing a familiar smirk.
"Yo. Need a ride?"
A blonde youth, maybe a little too smug for this early in the morning, flashed a grin. His light green eyes practically glowed with cheeky confidence.
"Eh—Simon! Oh, thank god. Yes. Please. This damn bus is taking forever."
"Wow. Not even gonna ask how I've been? Cold. But sure, hop in."
He thumbed toward the back passenger seat. The front was already claimed—obviously.
Cheng climbed in, still jittery from the nerves, but the warmth of the car and the low hum of the engine calmed him a bit. He took a few deep breaths as they pulled onto the main road.
Oh—you're wondering who this Simon guy is? Lucky you. Quick crash course incoming:
Simon Elezi. Cheng's old friend. Technically. The two had known each other since kindergarten—back when Cheng somehow got accepted into a primarily upper-class private school. Total fluke. A glitch in the matrix.
Cheng was the odd one out, constantly bullied for being a late bloomer with a bargain-bin wardrobe and no social capital. And who stepped in to help him?
Well, it wasn't Simon.
At least, not at first.
But none of that really matters. Fast forward a few years and here we are.
Simon? He's the son of one of the world's biggest pharmaceutical tycoons—a businessman who mass-produces medical equipment and owns one of Japan's most powerful pharma firms. Born and raised in Tokyo, the family eventually relocated to Musutafu for a quieter life. Not that Simon saw much of his parents. His dad was always off on global business deals, and his mom was too busy with elite social circles.
But the real kicker?
Simon's Quirk: Prop Shop
A compound Quirk—a fusion of his father's and mother's abilities.
His dad's Quirk? Think a proto-Momo Yaoyorozu: the power to create any object, as long as he knows enough about it.
His mom's Quirk? Scribe—she could write properties onto objects, imbuing them with special traits.
Simon got both.
He could create anything—and then give it weird, useful, or ridiculous properties. A real-life item Modder. Handy. Scary. Overpowered, if you ask Cheng.
And right now, Cheng was just grateful he owned a luxury car and was generous enough to play Uber when the bus system decided to betray him.